Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 28 March 1878 — Page 2

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One Banning, ft bad and ridiculous lad Among the congressional vermin, Has dared, they assert, the feelings to hurt

Of WilliamTecumseh Sherman.

This great William T—whocould do it but he Has recently issued his firman, Andordered in peace,a large

Has

Of William Tecumseh Sherman.

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from Scribner for March. SUSAN LAWTON'S ESCAPE.

BY SAXB HOLM.

Tom loved Susan now with a calm, concentrated purpose of making her his wife. There was in his feelings for her none of the impatience of a fiery passion. He would not have rebelled had he been told that she would not be his for years, so that he had been sure of her at last. He had gradually taken his position with her as her constant attendant, protector, adviser. In a myriad of ways he had made himself part of her daily life, and this, too, without once coining on the ordinary lover's ground of gifts, attentions, compliments. He never even 6ent her flowers he never said a flattering thing to or of her. He simply sat by her side, looked at her, and took care of her. How Edward Balloure chafed at all this is easy to imagine. When he met Tom in Sue's presence,—and he was seldom out of it except in business hours, —he eyed him sometimes fiercely, sometimes almost imploringly. Tom had tor Edward Balloure but one look, but one '.one—that of concealed comtempt tHte barest civility was all he could wrench from himself for the man whom he knew to be base, but whom Susan re\erenced and loved. And Susan I It most be a more skillful pen than mine which could analiyzethe conflicting emotions which filled Susan's heart now. Professor Balloure occupied her imagination to a greater degree than she knew. She idealized him, and then let her thbughts dwell on the ideal she had made. She was full of sentiment about him, she leaned on his intellect, sought his opinions, was stimulated by his society. She talked better to him, and before, than under any other circumstances. She yielded to him in many matters, small and great, as she had yielded when he was her teacher. She knew, also, her great power over him. In the bottom of her heart she knew that he loved her, though never once had he said to her a word which could offend her delicate sense of right But one day in a sudden and irrepressible mood he had poured out to Mrs. Lawton 6uch passionate avowals ofhis long admiration and affection for Susan that Bell had been terrified, and had spoken to him with the utmost severity. He pleaded so persistently to be forgiven, and moreover argued so plausibly that she ,had totally misconceived the real meaning of all he had said, that he made Bell f»»el ashamed of having resented his words, and half guilty hen elf of having misinterpreted them. Wi'.v Edward Balloure! He thought that Bell" would tell Susan of their conversation, and he watched the next day far some trace of its influence upon her. No trace was there. Her manner was a* cordial as ever—no more, no less so and the professor could never make up his mind whether she had been told or not.

One day when Tom had been taking unusual pains about some matters for Susan, she looked up at him and 6aid with a sudden and shame-stricken 6en6e of how much she was perpetually receiving at his hand*. "Oh, Tom! how good you are! It isn't fair for you to be with me all the time, tl "Itn't fair!" exclaimed Tom., VWhat do you mean?"

Susan colored, but did not speak. He understood. "Do you dislike to have me with vouall the time?" he asked ly"Oh, no!" cried Susan "no. You know it isn't that." "Then I am content," replied he. "It is all right."

Susan made no reply. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. Something he saw in her face made Tom bolder than one moment before he would have dated to be. "'One of these years, Sue, you And I ^will be married," he 6*id quietly.

She stavted, turned red, then pale, and stammered: '•Why, Tom, I told you long ago"Oh, yes"—he interrupted her in a placid tone—"that's all right. I understand it. It will be just as you say but one of these years you'll think it riyhr," and Tom began to talk about something else a* naturally and calmly as if no ex-

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THURSDAY, MARCH 29, 1878.

"WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN.

From the New York Sun, 1

army

increase-

William Tecumseh Sherman.

But

Banning, who knows, as you well may suppose, No moro about war than a merman, Has brought in a bill quite opposed to the will

Of William Trcumsch Sherman.

Though Stoci man you see, wished the army to be, A bully bigthing like the GermaD, That man would persist in reducing the list

In spite of theerdsrs of Sherman.

He says that the size of the thing and its prion Are points for the house to determine And what'a worse, you may say, he has cut down the pay

Of William Tecumseh Sherman.

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To this ih'ng averse, William hastens to curse— And his talk's not a bit like a sermon— The congressional fool* win refuse to be tools

For William Tecumseh Sherman.

He says they are hogs, and no better than dogs With coats un ike that of the ermine, And not worthy the spite of so shining a light

As William Tecumseh Sherman. So now yon can see that the army should be Above these congressional vermin, And rul« all the land at the mighty command

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she cried. At one moment the thought it the most audacious impertinence a man ever committed the next instant she thought it the sweetest daring that love ever dared, and a strange surrender of herself to its prophecy began it that very hour. No wonder. The prediction had almost a preternatural sound, as Tom said it and while he spoke his eyes rested on hers with an authoritative tenderness which was very compelling.

After this day, Susan never felt sure that Tom was not right. After this day, Tom never felt a doubt and from this day, Edward Balloure perceived in Susan a change which he could not define, but which made him uncomfortable. Tne searching, probing, questioning look in her eyes was goae. The affection remained, but the eager, restless Inquiry had ceased. Had she found out? or had bhe left off caring to know?

One day, in an impatient and ill natured tone, Professor Balloure 6aid to Susan: •'Does Mr. Lawton really live in this house? I confess it is something ot a tria. "that none of your friends can ever see}oil without having his company inflicted on them. He is a very stupid man."

Susan fixed her brown eyes steadily on Professor Balloure's face. "If anv of our friends find Mr. Lawton's company an infliction, they know how to avoid it. We do not think him a stupid person, and I trust him more than any other man I know," and, wit this sudden and mo6t unexpected shot, Susan walked away and sat down at the piano.

Edward Balloure ms, for once, dumb. When Susan stopped playing, he bent over her and said in a low tone: '•I hope you will forgive me. I

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dreamed that you had so strong a regard for Mr. Lawton. I thought he was Mrs. Lawton's friend, and somehow I had otten fancied that he bored you." "You were never more mistaken in your life, Professor Balloure," answered Susan, composedly. "Mr. Lawton is a person who makes you contented by his simple presence—he is so quiet, and yet so full of vitality." "She has studied Mr. Lawton then, feeis a charm in his presence, and has reflected upon it enough to analyze it All this passed through the professor's mind, and gare a peculiar bitternesi to the coldly civil tone in which he replied, "Ah! I should not have thought thai possible. It is only another of ihe many illustrations of the difference be tween Ihe feminine and the masculine standards of juding men."

Susan colored, and was about to speak indignantly, changed her mind, closed her lips and smiled, and when Edward Ballours saw the smile, his hearl sank within him. By that smile he knew that his reign, so far as it had been a reign, was over, and Tom Lawton's had begun.

Two weeks from that day Professor and Mrs. Balloure sailed for Europe. The sudden announcement of their plans caused no astonishment it had always been the protessor's way to set off at a day's notice. He had been a restless and insatiable traveler. But when it was known that his house was Offered for rent, furnished for three years, then people did wonder what was taking him away for so long a time. Nobody but Edward Balloure knew. Bell Lawton suspected, but said nothing, and Susan did not so much as dream. She was surprised at hen elf, and had a half guilty feeling that she did not more keenly regret his going. When she bade him good-bye,she 6aid, lightly: "Who knows where we shall meet next? Bell and I may run over next summer. We have talked of it." "If I could think that, I should be very glad, indeed," replied the professsr, earnest ly. "But you will not come." "What did he mean by that, Bell?" said Susan, after he had gone. "How does he know what we will do?"

Mrs. Lawton laughed, and skipping up to Susan's side, kissed her on tbe forehead, and sang: "How does anybody knpw what anybody will do? S i\

"'Woood and married and a',

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Kissed and carried awa', I Is na the lasse well aff That's wooed and married and a'?'"

This chorus of an old Scotch ballad had been much on Mrs. Bell Lawton's lips of late. "Bell!" exclaimed Susan "you are going to be married?"

Perhaps," said Bell. "And you, Mis9 Susan?" "No," said Susan, stoutly. "No! And you shan't be. I can't spare you."

At this moment Tom entered, and Bell ran out of the room, 6inging: 4". "'Wooed and married and a',1

Kissed and carried awa'I'" •'Who's married now?" asked Tom. "Nobody," replied Susan. "But I'm afraid Bell will be." "Why, Sue!" said Tom "it isn't possible that you have not seen all along that Bell would surely marry Fred Ballister?"

Susan looked aghast. "I never thought of 6uch a thing," she exclaimed. "Why, what will become of me?"

Tom lcoked in her face without speaking. If he had been a less reticent, less obstinate man, he would have poured out a voluble torrent of words just then but he did not open his lips. He knew that Susan knew what his look mean*. Yet he might have made it less hard for her. What could she say? She flushed and lowered her eves, and finally saiu "Oh, Tom!"

There was a world of appeal in the exclamation, if Tom would only have understood it but he would not—would not, or did not. "All right, Sue! All right!" he said, cheerily. "I shall never urge you. One of these days vou'U think it right to marry me. You'll know when the time comcs. All must be clear."

Susan could have cried with vexation. Did he mean to punish her for having gratuitously refused him before he had ever offered himself to her in words? No, surely Tom was too noble for that. Did he expect her to 6ay to him in so many words, "Dear Tom, I am ready to marry you now?" Did she really and heartily want to marry him alter all* She was happier when he was with her than when he was away. If a day passed without her seeing him she was restless and ill at ease. She found herself in all her plans and projects leaning on him, including him .as inevitably as if they belonged to each other. But was this love? Susan, wa* not wholly sure. Altogether Susan, was quite miserable,and none the less so sledged^ becau

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state of things Wise fellow 1 he had reason to "I don't heli 've he really cares very much lor me. taid Susan pettishly to Bell one day. "If I were to tell him positively to-morrow that I would never marry him, I don't believe he would mind it much." "Oh, Sue, how can you say so?" cried Bell. "Look at these last two years. Has Tom been out of your presence one hour when he could be in it?" "No," said Sue "That's one way he's brought me into this uncomfortable state about him. I'm so used to him. I neytr could do without him in the world." •'Of course you can't,"' said Bell *fand when I'm married"—Bell's engagement to Mr. Ballister was now formally acknowledged—"you can't go on living here alone and as for your getting any 'lady companion' to live with you, that's out of the question. You'll never find another such saint as I've been to put up with your ways, My! what I've born in these last five years! No, Miss, you'd better take to yourself a husband, and of all the good, true, sterling men in this world, Tom's the best, excepting Fred." "I know it," said Sue. foiio.nly. "1 told Professor Balloure long ago that I trusted Tom more t'wi trusted any other man in the world." "Did you?" cried Bell. "Did you say that to Edward Balloure? Oh, I'm so glad. Oh, Sue, you'll never know how I've worried about that man's influence over you. I don't believe in him, and I never did. and if his wife had died any time, you'd have married him as true as fate." "I think not," said Sus&n reflectively 'I am afraid I don't believe in him either and yet it seems so horribly ungratefu after all he has done ior me." "Well, he's safe out ot the way now, thank Heaven," said Bell. "That's one good thing. And you've got to make up your n*ind about Tom." "Well, why doesn't he make me?" said Susan. "Susan Lawton," said Bell "you ought to know Tom better. He knowr that you know he is ready and longing to make you his wife at any hour, and he will never urge you—not if you keep him waiting on and on till you are both gray." "I wonder," said Susan

No," replied Bell, "he never will. He's as obstinate as a rock, and re than that, he doesn't want jou for a wife till you want him for a husband, lorn ts proud as Lucifer in his heart "But, Bell," pleaded Susan, "I can go to Tom and say, 'please take me.' He had a good chance a few days ago when he fir6t told me you were going to marry Fred, and all he* said was: 'AH right. Sue, all rig it," and Susan laughed in 6pite of herselt at the recollection.* *-%V

Bell laughed too, but she was Vexed and anxious to see two people at such cross purposes. Her own wooing and winning had been so smooth, so entirely in accordance with the conversational usages and customs, that she sympathized freely in Susan's position. "I shouldn't like it myself," thought Bell "I should never stand it if Fred treated me that way. But I know Fred wouldn't really do "any mfcre for me than Tom would for Sue. I believe I'll speak to him." "Speaking to him" was not so easy. Several well meant and carefully planned little speeches of Bell's died away on her lips when she found herself face to face with Tom. And time "'a6 slipping away. Her own wedding was to come off in a few months, and what could poor Sue do? Mrs. Bell Lawton was much perplexed. At la6t one day she took a despei ate 6tep Tom had dined with them. After dinner they were all sitting together in the library. Bell rose, looked them both in the face for a moment with a half comic, halt severe glance, and 6aid: "Now, I tell you what it is it is high time you two decided what you are going to do. Something has

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to be done

Now, I'm going to leave you, and if you don't itraighten things out, 1 won't speak to either of you again," and she marched out ot the room.

Tom looked at Susan, who said, nervously: "Oh, how queer Bell is!"| "She is right," said Tom. And then Tie looked at Susau, and continued looking at her, and said nothing.

Moments passed. Susan could not bear thfi silence another moment. "Tom!" she eried, "tell me just once, would you really mind ve.*y much if I didn't marry you?" "Yes, it would be a very great disappointment to me," he said. "But——" He would probably have finished his sentence with his characteristic phrase. "It's all right, Sue, all right," if he had not just then looked up. Tears were in Sue's eyes, and her hands were stretched to ward him. "Oh, Tom!" she cried, "if you really have been sure, why haven't you n.aae tne come to you before?" "So there was never a day without a Mrs. Thomas Lawton in town, after all," wrote Bell, describing her own and Sue's wedding to a friend. "We were married first—Sue nd Tom would have it so—and as soon as the minister had made mc into Mr». Frtd Ballister, he hurried on to make Sue into me. It is really very odd to hear her called Mrs. Lawton. 1 don't get used to it. But my dear, if you want to see two happy people, you just ought to see Tom and Sue. I declare it is marvelous. You wouldn't think they were in the least suited to each other* You know, dear Tom is queer to the last degree. Much as I love him I could never live with him. I've .always said so. But Sue' manages him most beautifully, and no wonder, for she never looks at him without such love in her eyes—I didn't think Sue had it in her. Fred is quite jealous. He says that the other Mrs. Tom Lawton is the woman he ought to have married. She is a woman who knows ho to appreciate a husband."

And now, where other stories end, this story begins. For it was four years after Susan Lawton's marriage that she had the "escape" which it is the purpose ol uiv story to tell, and all this which has gone before has been merely what it was necessary that one should know in order to understand the rest.

The relation between Tom and Susan had grown constantly clo»er and sweeter. It was a very peculiar one. People did not always understand it. There were those who were shallow enough to say that Tom Lawton did not appreciate his wife but nobody would have laughed more heartily than Sue herself at such an accusation against Tom. He was Still as reticent, un Jemanstrative, as he '"had been in ihe days of hb strange loverhood, but he was as sensitive yet to voice, look, touch, as if he were

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this means! How few women, alas, have had it given to them to know the joy of it!

One day a letter carre to Sue from Bell, who was traveling in Europe with her husband."Only think," Bell wrote, poor Mrs. Balloure has died st last, we tound her here, in this hotel. She had been ill for a day or two, but nobody thought anything of it. She had the Roman fever last winter and has never been well since. What makes it worse is that Professor Balloure is away. He has gone with a party of scientific men into Russia. They say he has net been with her half the time since they came abroad, and that the poor thing has been quite broken— has just sat still patiently wherever hltft her till he saw fit to comeback. Oh, I've no patience with that man! Well, she died last night, and nobody knows where to telegraph to him. Her maid is a stupid thing, and doesn't know anything. We can't find the professor's address anywhere among her papers, and so Fred is seeing to everything, and we've actually got to bur the poor soul to-morrow. Isn't it the strangest thing you ever heard of, that we should have come way out to this outlandish spot, to bury this townswoman of ours,—and a woman we alwavs hated so, too? Poor thing, what a lifj she has led of it! And oh, haven't you had an escape! I declare the second tKing I thought of was, how glad I am Sue's married all safe. I never could have stood your marrying Edward Balloure."

The letter ended abruptly Riving no more details, and to Susan's great relief no more comment on Professor Balloure. To Sue's loyal, loving, wedded heart there was something inexpressibly shocking)in Bell's light way of referring to him. And it was with a real sense of relief that she threw the letter into the fire after having read Tom all of it except the last paragraph. "That's the first time in my life" thought Susan, "that I ever had anything I didn't want T'om to see her."

The consciousness of it hurt her to the core, and still more she felt the hurt of it the next morning. She had been talking with Tom about Mrs. Balloure's death, and sa\ ing that 6he hoped the professor would now marry a woman he could love.

Well, he can't have you, Sut. said Tom, dryly. Susan gazed at him in wond "Why. Tom Lawton!" she said, -what do you mean?"

Tom looked at her with a grave face. "I think vou would have married him Sue?" "Never!" exclaimed Sue, "and it is horrid of you to say such a thing, never trusted Professor Balloure, ana bewides"—Sue stopped, colored—"I think I always loved you, Tom.''

This speech of Tom's rankled in Sue's mind all day. It troubled her by its reflected implication as to the past. Du ring all those years had Tom really believed that she loved Professor Balloure? Was that the reason he had left her so free from the urging with which men usually seek women to marrv them? Had he had her irank. open-hearted Tom a.secret canac.ty for jealousy? Ah! if'he could only know how immeasurably higher she held him than she had ever held any other man how absolutely his strong integrity and loyalty of nature had won her trust and her love.

Later in the day Sue sat dov/n to 'answer Bell's letter. When the letter was half finished, she was called away. She left the letter lying open on her desk.

When Tom came home at night and did not find Sue, he had a vague sense of discomfort, as he always did when she was not in the house. Roaming about the library, idly, he sat down at Sue's desk, saw the open letter, turned the sheet over to find out to whom it was written, saw Bell's name, and proceeded to read what Sue had written. Bell's letter to Sue and Sue's to her were al ways common property there was nothing" in the least 6trange in Tom's reading that letter but this, alas! was what he read. After some comments on Mrs. Balloure's death and relerences to what Bell had said in regard to the professor's character, Sue had gone on to reoeat what Toi.i had that morning said: "What do you suppose, Bell," she wrote, "ever put such an idea into his head? Bless him! Dear old fellow! How much happier, safer a woman 1 am, in every way, with him than I ever could have been with any other man! Now, Bell, do be careful "what you write about Professor Balloure, for I never have secret thing in the world from Tom. and he might look over iny shoulder any minute and read your letter." 'i his was the way the thing laid in SueV mind. Tom's speech in the morning had startlei her.very much by it revelation that at some time or other, if not now, he had felt a jealousy of Professor Balloure's regard for her. If he had that leeling, nothing coul» so strengthen it as this so. of light refer ence which Bell seemed to be inclined to make to ber old notion that Sue would have married the professor. "I can't have Tom hurt by such things being said," thought sue. Bell foight know better an to write so: she always a» thonghtlesn. Why, if he fee'.s sensitive on the subject now, one such speech as that of Bell'a might make him believe all his life that I had married him, loving some one else better," and so Su» wrote that fatal 6entei.ee: "Do becart-f.il what you write."

Tom sat still a long while looking at the words. 'So there are secrets in connection with Edward Balloure," he thought, "which I am not »o know."

The blow was a more terrible one to Tom, from the fact that one of Sue's greatest charms to him was the frankness, the bold truthfulness, of her character. Tom's long experience a* a lawyer had made him distrustful of average women. In Sue, he had thought he had found one incapable "of deceit and here she was not only concealing something from him, but warning her accomplice to conceal it too. 'There was nothing which one of them knew that the other did not," thought Tom, as he sat glued to the chair, and gazing at the mute, terrible lines. Finally he sprang up and left the house.

Sue came home late, hoping to find Tom as usual in hie big arm chair, reading the evening newspaper. The libi ary was dark no one was there. "Has not Mr. Lawton been in yet?" "Yes ma'am," replied the servant, "He has been in and gone out again." "How very strange," thought Sue. "I wish he was here."

She sat down and finished her letter in few words then went to the winduw and watched for Tom. It waa long past

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J-bye in an absent sort of

way and was gone. "Poor diar Tom!" thought Susan.' "He certainly is worried about something. It is ton bad," and she set herself to work to make the best of a lonely evening. The evenings »vhich Tom spent away from home were so rare, that it always seemed to Susan a fresh and surprising deprivation when one occurred. The loneliness of the house to her when Tom wa out of it, could not be expressed the very furniture seemed to take on a totally different expression. The clock struck ten, eleven, Tom did not return. Finally, Susan went to bed, and fell asleep, wondering what had become of him. The next morning his face wore the same grave and unnatural look. He hardly tpoke, and when he did speak, the words were constrained. Susan was now thoroughly uneasy. "Dear Tom," she said, "do tell me what is the matter." "Nothing," was the only reply she could extract from him. "Tom, I know something is the matter," she exclaimed, vehemently. "Are JOdill?" "No: in the least."

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He left her immediately after breakfast, witn the same strange formal kisa he had given her the night before

After he had gone, the impression of his altered manner faded somewhat it was all so new, so strange, that as soon as he was out of her sight, she thought she must have exaggerated it—imagine It. "I dare say he really was ill without knowing it," she said. "It must be that He irn't in the least himself. Perhaps he will be better by noon."

Noon came Tom came. The same cool, reserved manner the same cool distant tone the same terrible silence! Susan now grew seriously alarmed. As soon as the servant had left them alone, she exclaimed: "Tom, you shall not treat me in this manner any longer. What have done?'' "How do I treat vou?" he asked cold-

Susan ceuld not keep the tears back. "Why, Tom," she 6aid, "you treat me as if I had displeased you most seriously: as \f you were mortally offended with me for something. What have I done? I do implore you to tell me." "You have not done anything. I am not offended," he replied.

Susan was clinging to him and looking up in his face with streaming tears. "Tom," said she, "you are not telling me the truth. You areas changed as a human being can be, and vet keep the same body. Something has happened and you shall tell rne. I have certainly displeased you, and I cannot imagine how."

He loosened her arms from his neck, and put her away, not ungently, but very firmly. "There is nothing to tell," he said. "I am not displeased. I must go now."

Susan's arms fell her whole figuri dropped. She stopped weeping, and looked piteously into her husband's facc. "Tom," she said you are very hard, would not hurt you for all the world," and she turned and left him.

All the long afternoon ehe sat like one in a dream of misery. It seemed to her as if the very sun had gone out. How helpless she was! How long could she live—she wondered over and over—if Tom continued like this!

When he came home at night, she studied his face timidly, and in silence She tried to converse about indifferent subjects. There was no change in him still the same frigid, distant civility the glance, the tone ot a stranger, and not of a husband. By a great effort she kept back the tears.' She was growing calmer now and more resolved. In a few minutes after, tea was over. Tom said, with an attempt at ease: "I am going to leave vou now. I must go down town."

Susan sprang up, closed the door, and standing with iier back firmly against it, said, in a low tone, breathlessly. '-You shall not go till you tell me what has so changed you in this one twentyfour hours. Why, Tom! Do you know how you look at me? How you speak to me? Why, I should be dead ia one week if it kept on like this. What have I done? What has come to you.

He looked at her curiously aud observantly. How do I look at you' How do I speak to you?" he s.iid.i ,:V fv~

Susan was eying, hard now. She could hardlv peak. "You look at me," she sobbed, as if I were not your wife, and never had been. You speak to me as if you hated me*, all that is in your tone. Ob, you'd know it quickly enough, if I looked at you even once with such an expression! Tom, 1 shall go mad if you don't tell me! You can't deceive me. You needn't think you can. I know every slightest intonation of your voice, every shade of your eye. I've seen you vexed about little things, or out of patience, or tired—but this is different this is horrible I know I must have offended you in some way, and it is cruel in you not to tell me,—cruel, cruel, cruel 1"

He still stood looking at her with a cool, observant expression, and made no reply for a moment then he taid, taking hold of the door: "I must go now, I don't want to talk ar.y more. I will be back soon." "You shall not go," said Susan, more slowly, and in a voice of anguish. "I will follow you you Shall not leave me! Oh, Tom, Tom, tell me what I have done!" Suddenly, bv what preternatural intuition I know not,—possibly, because, in her

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asking hini tenderly if he were ill, and if anything troubled him, Susan became silent. She bad learned, and it was one of {he hardest lessons' of her married life, that when Tom was tired and worried about business matters, it wa* better not to talk to him. After dinner, he sat down near Sudan's table, and glanced over the columns of the newspaper. The letter to Bell lay on the table. Taking it up he said ca»ually: "\Jay I read it, Sue?" "Oh, I guess you don't care to read it thi3 time, d^ar,' she replied laughingly, and took it out of hi hand. He made no answer, but turned back to his newspaper. Presently he said he must go downtown he halan engagement. He kissed her goo

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stopped like one hearing a distant sound, leaned forward and said in an altered tone, "Was it because I would not let you read my letter to Bell?"

As the words passed her lijSl, she saw his face change,—the first break which there had been in its fearful rigidity. She knew she had touched the truth at last. "Tom, Tom!" she cried, "was that it? Was that it? I tee it was. Whv, how could you have minded that so 'much?" and she led him, half by main force, to a chair, and threw her arms around his neck. "Ought I not to have minded it?" he asked, in a stern tone.

Susan was reflecting. How distinctly before her eyes at that moment, stood out the fatal sentence, "Be careful what you write." "Tom," ahe said, "I will write this very night to Bell, and ask her to send back the letter, that you may read evei word of it." "I have no wish to read it," he said, coldly.

Susan was in despair. "Tom, what else can I do?" she said. "Oh, let me send for it? I never dreamed that you would mind not seeing it, Whv, you don't see half my letters to Bell."

He made no reply. Susan sat silent for a moment. She srerned no nearer her husband than before. The same intangible icy barrier which had filled her with such anguish all day, was there still. Suddenly, with one of those lightning impulses, by which fnen in desperate need have often been saved as by a miracle, Susan exclaimed: "Tom, I can tell you all there was in the letter. I mean all there was which I did not want you to see." She paused. Her husband ived hit eyes on her with as piercing a gaze as if she had been a witness in a case of life and death. "This was it," continued Susan. "It was about Professor Balloure. You know what you sa:d to me the other morning, that at any rate he couldn't have me."

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"Then something has gone wrong in business: something worries you." "Nothing has goni wrong: nothing worries me."

Cool, curt replies: no relaxation of his face not a smile not a lender look in his eye. Was this Tom? What did it mean? Susan was bewildered she could do nothing but reiterate helplessly her piteous cry, "Tom, what is the matter?"

Tom nodded. "Well, I can't tell you how that shocked me. I never dreamed of your having had any feeling like jealousy about him, or any thought about him in any way in connection with me. Oh, Tom, Tom! how could you ever help nowing that with all the love of my whole nature I have loved you! Well, you ree, Bell has always talked to me about the professor's caring for rne. She always thought he wished he could marry me' and in this letter telling his wife's death ehe said several things that I didn't like I didn't read them to you and in my letter to her I told her how much saier and happier I was with you than I ever could have been with any other man in the yrorld and—"

Susan hesitated. How hard it was to quote that unfortunate sentence just as it I stood I "and—there really was only one sentence in the letter I was unwilling you should see. I thought you wouldn't understand. I told Bell to be careful what she wrote to me about it, because I hadn't any secrets from you, and you I might look over my shoulder and read the letter."

While Susan was speaking these last I words, Tom's eyes *eemed to grow darker and darker, with the fixity of their gase. As she finished, he put his arms around her, held her tight and kissed her. She felt that the ice was broken. Weeping, she kissed his cheek and nestled closer. I "Sue," said Tom,—it was his old voice,! —"Sue, now I will tell you. I had readf that letter."

Sue started and exclaimed, "You! read that letter!" "Yes." he said. "I came in and sawl 't lying there open, saw it was to Bell. I and glancing down the pages till I camel to that sentence which you have just re-f peated, and which, you will admit, I nad| cause to resent."

She had hardly listened to what hel said. .Her face was full of awe, almost of terror. "Oh, Tom, Tom!" she cried, "wasn'tl it like an inspiration, the impulse which made me tell you that sentence? Sup-I posing 1 had not told you, vou would! never have believed in me again—| neverI" "No," said Tom "Don't you see, dear love." continued Susan, "just how I said that? simply tc save you pain?—not in the least becausel there* were any secrets in the past I wasl afraid of Bell's letting out, but because| by your speech to me about the professor. I knew that you had had spme feeling pbout him, and I thought if Bell said| any more of her light jesting, thoughtless things in regard to him, they would only strengthen vour feeling and give you an-| noyance. to you see? Oh, do say that you see just how it was!" 1 "Yes, I do see," said Tom kissing herJ

I do see, and I thank God that you told| me yourself of the sentence. That tc the load off my heart."

Susan shuddered. "Oh, suppose I had forgotten it!" shs said. "I might have, though I don't bcJ lieve I ever could, for the sentence hui me when I wrote it." -i

Susan was weak from nervous exhaust tion the t*enty-fuur hours' strain hai been a severe one. She laid hisr head or her husband's shoulder and closed hed eyes. Without a word, without a soundj without a motion, she knew that thej were one again.

After a time she said softly: "Tom, what do you suppose put it intc my head that it could possibly have beer the letter which had troubled you? never once thought of it at the time, did not dream ofyou caring to see it Don't you think it must have been angel which made me think of it?" "I don't know, dear." said Tom solemn| ly. "It would have been worth while foil an angel."

After another long, peaceful silanc Susan lifted her head again and said: "Tom, will you promise me now on4 thing? Promise me that, as long as wJ live, you will never bury anything in youl heart asyeudid this. Only think by whai a narrow channel we have escaped ter-| rible misery. Promise me that if eve( again any act of mine seems to wronj you, you will come instantly to me ans tell me. Will you?" "Yes, Sue, I will," said Tom, fervent] ly. I

And this was Susan Lawton's escape|

One of the highest compliments Edwii Booth ever received was paid him by old negro woman, a family servant, *L went to see a performance of "Richelieu*! during Booth's visit to Savannah. Givj ing her impressions of the play to mistress next day, she expressed greatest concern for the health of actor. "Poor old man," said she,